My Very First Time
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MyVeryFirstTime Password February 4, 2015

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There was a teen girl innocence about her small, oval face, her shortcut hair, the loafers she wore, and the My Very First Time broomstick skirt. All this became even more pleasing when I saw her eyes. She had walked about 20 yards and I was realizing I probably would ncvci see hot again, when she turned back to me and smiled. In a second I was at her side, telling her about my long search fot her and asking to photo graph her in all the ways 1 had in mind. She kept walking toward the dormitory, looking neither left nor right. ‘‘Rut you smiled at me!” I pleaded. **’l hat,” she said, “was because you looked at me in such a funny, old-fashioned way. I didn’t know men looked at girls like that anymore.”

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MyVeryFirstTime Videos

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She must have sensed my disappoint MyVeryFirstTime for suddenly she turned to me, completely relaxed and smiling the* same tantalizing smile as under the gilded statue. “All right.” she said. “How do you want to photograph me? And where?” I he pictures on these pages are the answer. Ii is not unusual that I have spent the last two years taking pictures of nothing but women in winter underwear and corsets. More mail-order catalogues come out of Chicago, where I work, than anywhere else in the world, and I am stuck with the ladies who demonstrate the catalogue merchandise. These My Very First Time ladies are not inspiring.

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A few months ago on the way home from The Loop on the, 1 fixed my eyes on a curly-haired brunette who, from the wicker basketful of books in her lap, obviously was a student. She kept peering over my shoulder at a set of proofs I had, and without waiting for an introduction, she asked me with wide eyes, “Would you photograph me like that sometime?” The next week I had just chased the catalogue stylist out of my studio with a staple gun, when the kittenish little girl showed up—all eager. 1 found time to shoot a few fun pictures of her with the wicker basket, and from that day on, I haven’t been able to get rid of her. Her name is Zarita Sims. Photographing her svelte youngness, after doing all the tired old corset pictures, gives me the same feeling a weary violinist might have in playing over an exciting new My Very First Time concerto he has just discovered.

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Zarita obviously enjoys it herself. She is not at all like a MyVeryFirstTime model but seems to get a sensual pleasure out of being photographed, like a kitten having its back scratched. Naturally, she has become my favorite subject and studio mascot. She splashes into the suds I have set up for soap ads. She curls around the tripod and goes to sleep, drops in with a cup of coffee for me at odd hours, or just lounges around reading the paper while I work. Like a pretty picture on the wall, she always seems to be around. I’ve always been intrigued by die use of trees, their limbs and leaves as abstract patterns in the foreground of pictures: Pictures of human beings, that is. and principally portraits. These natural My Very First Time screens add an ingredient of mystcrv to the face peering through them from the background.

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I think I originally observed this penomenon years ago in an old MyVeryFirstTime erotic-film. I watched a theater full of people completely entranced by the simple mechanical device of a camera being dollied through a growth of trees with a fragment of a human being creeping along on the other side. It was what the eye didn’t see that counted. In all of nature, no two trees are alike, no two leaves. Still, they seem to fall into logical patterns. Artists, like Japanese water-colorists, copy the intricacies of Nature’s designs. Photographers, to get their best effects must not copy but edit MyVeryFirstTime, using only the pieces and bits of it that best enhance their pictures.

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